Page 19 of Rent a Bad Boy

Everett glances at me. I give him a look that says please don’t encourage her, but he’s already fighting a smile. “I’m a linebacker.”

“Even better.” She pats his arm one more time before returning to her chair, grinning.

The Joneses, meanwhile, are doing something I’ve never actually seen them do before. They’re sitting quietly.

Dennis stares at Everett with the expression of a man who just realized the meeting he walked into was not the meeting he prepared for. His hands have gone from clasped in his lap to gripping the chair armrests. Christine is still holding her clipboard, but the pen has stopped clicking. Her eyes move from Everett to me and back to Everett, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she doesn’t look like she’s in complete control of the situation.

“This is Everett,” I announce, because somebody has to say something. “He’s a friend, and he’s very fond of the chickens.”

“Marjorie is my favorite,” he helpfully adds.

Christine stands, smoothing her blazer. “I think we’ve covered everything we need to cover today. Dennis?”

Dennis is already halfway out of his chair. “Yes. I think... yes. We should probably—” He glances at Everett one more time, and whatever he sees makes him move faster. “We’ll be in touch before the end of the week. And if you think bringing in some muscle is going to change the board’s decision, Miss Pickel, you can think again.”

He says it to me, but his gaze slides to Everett. Whatever he was hoping to convey with those words gets swallowed up by the low sound Everett makes in response. It’s not quite a growl. It’s more like the sound a very large engine makes when someone turns the key. Just once. Just enough to let you know what’s under the hood.

Dennis Jones is through the front door before his wife has even picked up her purse.

Christine follows him, but not before giving me one last look that says this isn’t over. I believe her. But I also just watched her husband almost trip over his own feet trying to get away from a twenty-year-old, so the threat feels a little less terrifying than it did half an hour ago.

The door closes, and the house goes quiet. Grandma finishes her mimosa and smacks her lips. “I’m going to take a nap.” That’s all she says before heading straight to her room, leaving her glass on the end table.

Now it’s just me and Everett, standing in the living room. “Fuck those people,” he grunts, staring at the closed door. “We’re not giving in.”

We. He said we. Something about that word coming out of his mouth makes the knot in my chest loosen halfway. “I texted you four times,” I whisper with my fists clenched at my sides. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“My phone was in my locker. I didn’t see your messages until after practice,” he explains. “But I’m here now.”

“You’re here now,” I repeat. I hate how much better that makes me feel. I hate how much I need this to work and how much of that need is starting to have less to do with the chickens and more to do with him. “So what do we do now?”

He’s quiet for a second before replying, “I want to spend the rest of the day with you.”

Okay, not at all what I was expecting. My stomach flips, but I don’t think it’s nerves. Or maybe it is, but it’s the kind of nerves that come with a warm, fizzy feeling underneath. I don’t have much experience with that feeling, and I’m not sure what to do with it.

I gulp. Hard. “Okay. You want to hang out here?”

He glances toward the hallway. Behind Grandma’s closed door, I’m sure we can both hear her singing something off-key. “My place. More privacy.”

The word “privacy” does something to my pulse that I’m choosing to ignore. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I said okay.”

He almost smiles. “Then let’s go.”

I grab my bag and my keys and follow him out the front door. Behind us, in the backyard, the girls cluck softly. They can afford to be oblivious to everything.

At this point, the passenger seat is starting to feel familiar, which is either comforting or concerning. I haven’t decided which yet.

But I got in, didn’t I?

8

EVERETT

You know how I know she’s nervous? She’s quiet the whole drive.